Page 79 of The Vacation Mix-Up
RILES
The thing about dodging metaphorical bullets is that those bullets tend to continue flying around, locked on their target, until they eventually hit.
I knew Riley was entitled to the passcode for the safe. Of course he was. But had I given it to him, he would’ve found Mom, in her urn, and I wasn’t ready to explain why she was in there and why I had her with me.
It was a bullet I was happy to dodge, for now.
I also couldn’t risk him having access to the safe and accidentally leaving it open. Because of him, my bathing suit was somewhere in the Labrador Sea, so trusting he would keep my most precious possession secure wasn’t something I felt confident trying. Trust cracks your armor, and I’ve been forging mine for as long as I can remember.
After eating breakfast in the buffet restaurant while waiting for our tender tickets to be called, we scanned our sailing passes on our way out of the ship, then took the short trip by ferry to Qaqortoq, a quaint, picturesque village on the southern tip of Greenland.
“Oh wow!” I say, enthralled with the steep rolling hills dottedwith brightly colored houses. “They look like little Legos. How pretty!”
Riley leaps off our boat onto the pier and offers me his hand. “Watch your step.”
I stop marveling at the fairy-tale scenery, place my hand in his, and focus on my footing. Before the cruise ship dropped anchor, we passed a couple of tiny icebergs, so I don’t fancy taking an unintentional dip in the icy water.
“Thank you,” I say, gripping his fingers tightly.
“No sweat.”
His hand is warm and soft but with rough edges only a hardworking hand possesses, and I like the feel of it in mine, foreign but protective. So much so that I’m tempted to link my fingers with his and skip along the pier, our arms swinging.
What has gotten in me?
I release his hand and awkwardly reposition my beanie, needing to busy my stupid fingers. Perhaps I’m just elated I’m in Greenland, that I’ve seen icebergs, and that I’ll be flying over a glacier by day’s end. I’ve never seen anything like Qaqortoq, and being here, so far away from the confinement of my office, feels euphoric and surreal. Hand-in-hand-skipping surreal.
“I can’t believe I’m here,” I say, excitement bubbling through my veins as we walk the short distance to the shore.
“Me neither.”
I draw in a deep breath, the sea air clean and fresh. “It’s so different from NYC.”
Riley scoffs. “You can say that again.”
Brushing off his disdain for my home city, I’m too overjoyed to pick a fight. “Do you know they eat seal and whale in Greenland? For real! It’s like their steak and chicken.”
“No, I didn’t.” He slides his hands into his pockets, probably to prevent me from latching onto them again. “But it makes sense, I guess.”
“Would you eat it?”
“Probably.”
I cringe. “I don’t think I could.”
“Why not?”
“Because seals and whales are cute.”
He chuckles. “And cows and chickens aren’t?”
“Not really. Plus, seals are lovers. They’re loyal; they bond for life. I’d hate to think I’m eating someone’s spouse of fifty years.”
Riley stops walking, nose bunched. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t think that’s true.”
“It is!”
He shakes his head.
